


Of The Morning

by 1llusionmachine



Category: Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Cups of Tea, Domestic, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, can you tell i dont know how to tag things, cant sleep, kinda angsty but mostly fluffy, unrequited love but not really, unspoken feelings, writers block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1llusionmachine/pseuds/1llusionmachine
Summary: Alex can't sleep. Miles makes him tea.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Of The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, this is my AO3 debut! I decided to post a short piece just to test the waters, pretty nervous so any feedback would be great! Thank you for reading!
> 
> Check me out on Tumblr!  
> @1llusionmachine

Miles is awoken by movement and a weight on the other side of the bed. He pries open a tired eye to find that Alex has seemingly only just crawled in beside him.

"Sorry, didn't mean teh wake yeh." He whispers when he notices Miles stir. "Go back to sleep."

"Christ, Al. What's the time?" Miles manages to ask after a moment or two, stretching, his voice cracking and groggy.

"Don't matter, Mi. Go to sleep." He mutters, settling down onto the pillow with a thud. 

"Alex. What's the time?" He presses, and Alex begrudgingly turns to face him, eyes tired and glassy. There's a shameful pause before he responds.

"Five. I just can't get anything out-"

"Shh, it's alright." Miles reaches for Alex's hand under the covers and gently squeezes it. Alex was well known for being a night owl and a perfectionist, which was a deadly combination. He never seemed to know when to call it a day (or, in this case, night); they'd worked into the early hours before in the studio, and it was inevitable on tour, but Miles had just assumed that it was part of the lifestyle, not a personal struggle - until this evening. Miles had come over earlier for dinner and it had turned into an impromptu writing session, but things hadn't gone as planned. While Miles was yawning and borrowing a pair of pyjamas at 1am, Alex seemed wide awake, and had grumpily excused himself to the living room to keep writing. Miles now wished he'd have convinced him otherwise, because Alex looked utterly shattered; dark circles, slumped shoulders, the works. He frowned.

"You're worrying me, la." He eventually says quietly. "Never seen yeh like this." 

Alex sighs, almost exasperated that anyone could ever be worried about him.

"I'm fine." The response is too quick, too insincere. "Just working."

"You're working too much. Don't force it, Al. It's clearly not working out." Miles counters. Alex doesn't reply, always too stubborn to admit when he's wrong. Instead he closes his eyes and squeezes Miles' hand back weakly, a delayed reaction. Miles feels helpless at Alex's exhaustion, knowing all too well himself the fear and frustruation of writers block, how it can drive you mad. He doesn't know how to help him in the long term just yet, but his sleep-addled brain can think of one thing that can help for now, or at least he hopes it will.

"I'll make yeh a cuppa." Miles announces. "Always helps. Me mum swears by it."

"No, Mi, don't," Alex whispers, grabbing his arm halfheartedly, but he's clearly unable to find the energy to argue. Miles gently pulls his arm away, hauling himself out of the room before Alex can protest any further.

* * *

The kitchen is silent, save for the hulking, monotonous hum of the fridge. He pads around in the dark, knowing the bright kitchen lights would wake him up too much - besides, the city outside casts just enough light into the room for him to fumble around for some mugs and to fill the kettle. He puts their tea bags in on autopilot - he has earl grey, Alex has regular - neither of them take sugar. 

_How could I have ever imagined that I'd be making Alex Turner tea at the wee hours of the morning?_ He muses, staring out the window, down into London, as if it will provide him answers. Of course, he knows the answer already, and he thinks Alex does too. But they just dance around it, because it's all they've ever done, and probably all they ever will do. He just hopes that enough cups of tea will let him know.

The quiet click and rolling thrum of the boiling kettle pulls Miles from his sleepy reverie - even from another room Alex consumes his thoughts, but that's more of a fact than a revelation at this point. He pours water into their cups, the hot liquid making a pleasing, bubbling sound as it hits the ceramic, and he goes to the fridge to get the milk. The amber light from the door glows softly in the dark kitchen, but it still makes Miles squint, somehow too bright and harsh. He notes that Alex is almost out of milk, and sets himself a mental reminder to pick some up for him tomorrow.

The steam from the cups peacefully rises, quiet and soft, into the air, and Miles stares into them for a moment, zoning out with half-lidded eyes, watching them create curling patterns with a life of their own, before pouring the milk in and giving them a lazy stir. He leaves the near-empty carton on the counter, in case he forgets his mental reminder by the morning (although, he thinks with a slow, private smile, it technically _is_ morning) and takes a mug in each hand.

Miles can just about make out Alex's form when he enters the bedroom, his eyes having adjusted to the dark in the few minutes he was away. He sits up slightly and reaches out for his cup, nursing the warm beverage in his hands as he leans against the headboard. He takes a sip of his brew with a grateful sigh.

"Cheers, love." The casual phrase is nothing new to Miles, but for some reason the vulnerability and softness in Alex's voice sends a pang of affection into his chest. 

The room is tranquil, under a spell, and they drink in companionable silence, too tired to speak (or perhaps neither of them knows what to say). Eventually Alex's mug is empty, and he places it gingerly on his bedside table before lying back down. Miles hesitates before doing the same, even though he's barely drunk anything; he wasn't really thirsty, anyway. 

"Fanks, Mi. Needed tha'." Alex murmurs, giving him a gentle lopsided smile. Miles feels his heart crack into two.

There's a split second where they share a look, that familiar yet terrifying atmosphere of intensity, and Miles crumbles further, taking his guard down; he's too tired to pretend tonight.

"Come here." 

He lifts his arm up to make space for Alex, and it seems that Alex doesn't want to pretend either, because he shuffles across the bed, and rests his head tentatively on Miles' chest. Miles senses his caution at crossing the boundary, and doesn't go any further in case Alex wants to back away, but after a moment he feels him relax, resting his full weight on him. It's a relief; there's nothing to be scared of. But then again, the early hours are the best at hiding the things they're usually scared to do.

Miles dares to bring a hand up to card through his hair, and Alex hums, bringing an arm across to pull him closer. 

"M'sleepy now." He mumbles. Miles can feel his nose brushing against his neck, and for a moment he thinks he feels his lips ghosting across his skin, too.

"S'okay. Night."

Miles goes to add something else but his confession dies on his lips - Alex's breathing has suddenly deepened and slowed, his breath tickling against his skin. Miles slips back into slumber with ease. 

They wake in the same embrace. It goes unmentioned over breakfast and black coffee.


End file.
